


Another Hour

by merildis



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9391067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merildis/pseuds/merildis
Summary: An early Philanthropy mission gone wrong.(Written for Snotweek 2017 day 5: "Lights Out")





	

“Snake?” Otacon’s voice crackles over the codec.

“I’m here,” Snake is crouched behind a storage container and leans carefully around the corner, watching as a guard makes his rounds through the ship yard. “The guards should be clear in about 40 seconds. Looks like your predictions were right, Otacon.”

Snake can’t see him, but he knows that Otacon is pushing his glasses up his nose with his smug little smile. “I figured they would be,” he says. Snake rolls his eyes.

“Alright,” Snake checks the chamber of his pistol, making sure it’s loaded. “I’m moving in.” The codec clicks off, and Snake slinks forward. Otacon found intel on good authority that the storage container Snake’s targeting is carrying parts for a new Metal Gear; the mission should be easy, in and out. Stick a few bombs to the container and be out before it blows up. Simple enough.

           

Otacon watches the feed from Snake’s body cam as he approaches the storage unit. Even now, when they’ve been doing this for a little over a year, he can’t help but be tense, hand fisted in front of his mouth, teeth sinking into his finger to keep him grounded. Everything looks like it’s going smoothly for the most part, so Otacon takes a moment to glance over the feeds from the security cameras. The guards are sticking to their patrols – Snake should have twenty seconds left to finish up and get out. Plenty of time.

Then he sees a flash, the tell-tale flash from the muzzle of a gun being fired. Otacon’s blood goes icy in his veins. It can’t be Snake’s, the flash is too bright for a silenced handgun and all he’s carrying on him is an M9, and -

It takes Otacon approximately half a second to realize the feed from Snake’s camera has gone dark. Right, okay, he probably just jostled it and broke the connection. He definitely hasn’t been shot. There were a whole _multitude_ of things that could have happened that _didn’t_ involve being shot. He’s fine. He’s _fine._ Otacon ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach, ignores the shaking in his hands. It takes him another three seconds to hail Snake on the codec.

Nothing.

He tries again, listens to the frantic beep, holds his breath.

Nothing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Otacon sees the explosion on the security camera (seventeen seconds, right on time), and then it goes dark too. The dread makes his head swim, makes him feel sick to his stomach. He tries the codec one more time.

Nothing. Nothing but silence and dead air.

(“Hal,” David says as he checks his gear one last time, “you remember the protocol, right?”

Hal doesn't look up from his computer. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“If we lose contact, you wait here for six hours, then take the car and get the hell out.” David reminds him anyway, because he’s always meticulously thorough. “No notes, no info on where you're going. Just go.”

Hal nods. “I know, Dave.”)

“God dammit, Snake,” Otacon hisses, and he’s frantic, fraying at the seams, energy sparking through every nerve. He tries desperately to find any sign of Snake on the other cameras in the facility but there’s nothing but the flash of the alarm and people running this way and that, none of them the one he’s looking for.

An hour passes.

The security cameras in the part of the shipyard where David ( _Snake,_ he reminds himself – they’re still on duty) set off the explosives were all taken out in the blast, so Otacon spends his time flipping through the other cameras. He doesn't find much, just the night guards still on high alert. His heart is still beating hard, his hands still shaking on the keys. He tries the codec again, but it rings, and rings, and rings.

Another hour.

Hal hasn't taken his eyes off the clock. Every minute that passes feels like it's squeezing his heart just a little harder, and he's left wondering when it’ll burst. The roaring energy of before has dulled into a quiet thrumming in his head, a kind of tired pain that beats behind his eyes, and he lets his head fall into his hands, fingers rubbing at his temples. “Christ, Dave,” he mutters, looks up at the screen again, finds nothing. The clock keeps ticking.

Another hour.

Hal feels sick. It’s been three hours, three hours since he last heard David’s voice, three hours since his codec and video feed went dark. It feels like it’s been years. All he can think about is David now, about his hands in his hair, his lips on his skin, about the way he looked when Hal left him at the drop point, bright eyes and easy smile. The image is burned into his mind, flashes at him every time he closes his eyes. He refuses to think that it may be the last image he’ll ever have of Dave, but the thought worms its way into his head anyway. He feels tears prick at his eyes. He breathes deep, steels himself, pushes his glasses up his face. “Three more hours, Dave.”

Another hour.

Hal’s watched the guards change shifts on the surveillance feeds. He doesn’t dare crack the blinds on the window, but he knows the first rays of dawn must be touching the horizon. Hal’s never felt so tired, never felt so awake. He realizes it’s raining now, though he doesn’t know how long it’s been coming down. It reminds him of the spring, of the cabin the two of them squatted in for a few weeks on a lake just north of the Canadian border where they spent lazy mornings tangled in each other and rainy afternoons watching the water. It makes Hal’s chest ache, bittersweet and longing. The voice in the back of his mind reminds him that this is his fault, his and no one else’s. Everyone he cares about ( _everyone he loves_ ) dies. Why should he have believed David would be different?

Another hour.

The rain doesn’t stop. Hal stares at the clock, ticking by the seconds on his computer screen. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s tried to raise Dave by codec only to be met with silence, but he tries again, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

It rings.

And then, there’s a noise. The sound of keys in a lock, the door creaking behind him. Hal is out of his chair in an instant, shaking hand on the gun Dave made sure he had with him before he left, too afraid to raise it.

But David is there, standing in the doorway. He’s covered in sweat and rainwater and there’s blood on his face, his hands, and Hal kisses him before he thinks about it, tastes copper on his lips. It’s too much and not enough, and David’s bloody fingers are in his hair, on his face, fever-hot and electric.

“Kept you waiting, huh?” Both of Dave’s hands are on the back of Hal’s head, and he pulls him forward until their foreheads touch, breath mingling. He closes his eyes, lets the smell of old coffee and shampoo and something unique to Hal wash over him, hold him in place even when the adrenaline is still pounding high and heady in his veins.

“Don’t you dare do that to me again,” Hal breathes against Dave’s lips, his arms around his neck. He’s still shaking, still feels like this can’t quite be real.

David lets his hands drop to Hal’s shoulders, fingers lacing behind his thin neck, thumb just barely grazing his pulse point, feeling his heartbeat, quick beneath his touch. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he catches Hal’s bottom lip in his teeth, kisses him hard and fast. Hal makes a broken noise, and his hands are everywhere at once, drawing across the broad planes of Dave’s back, tangling in his hair. He wants to make sure that he’s real, that he’s here, that he’s _his._

“A-are you alright?” Hal is breathless when he pulls away. His voice is thick with tears unshed.

“Yeah,” David murmurs, rubbing comforting circles into Hal’s back. “I’m fine, just a few cuts is all.” Hal is still shaking under his touch, but Dave can feel him starting to calm, tension slipping away from him with every moment that passes. “You okay?” His touch is gentle when he tilts Hal’s chin up to look at him. His blue eyes are still wide and frightened, glasses lopsided on his face.

“Uh,” Hal blinks, breathes slowly out of his nose, “I think so. Yeah,” he nods his head, “yeah, I’m okay.” David doesn’t let go of his chin, doesn’t break eye contact until Hal’s breathing calms to something a little bit like normal.

“Heh,” Dave swipes his thumb over Hal’s cheek, wiping away the rust-colored streak left there before. “Sorry,” he rights Hal’s glasses on his nose, and brushes a bit of dark hair from his face.

“You, uh, kinda look like shit,” Hal laughs after a moment. A good sign, then.

David grins back at him, that wide, shit-eating grin he knows Hal loves. “Low blow to a guy who almost died,” he plants another soft, chaste kiss on Hal’s lips, then pulls away. “We need to get out of here,” Dave’s all business again in an instant, taking a last look around the safe house they’ve lived in for the last few weeks.

This seems to spur Hal into action too, and he starts packing up his laptops in silence. The rest of their meager belongings are already packed into the car, ready for yet another escape onto the open road, the evidence of their existence in this town erased, just like every other place they’ve called home. David changes out of his sneaking suit and into a time-worn t-shirt and an old pair of jeans, storing the suit and his gear in the back of the car. It only takes them a few more minutes before Dave is turning the key in the ignition of the old sedan, the engine struggling before it thrums to life. For a while, they drive in a comfortable, familiar silence, the silence of pink-sky mornings and the wide-open plains of the American Midwest.

Hal leans down and pops the glovebox, pulling out the first aid kit. “Let me clean you up,” he says, rummaging around until he finds an alcohol wipe and tearing the edge of the foil package with his teeth. He undoes his seatbelt and leans across the console. David turns toward him, leaning into his touch. “So,” Hal mutters, wiping the trickle of dried blood from Dave’s forehead. “What happened?”

Dave winces when Hal bumps the cut near his hairline, earning a mumbled apology. “Didn’t get far enough away before the C4 went off,” his eyes flicker away from Hal for a second, but the road is still empty, nothing but green fields and old pavement as far as he can see. “I think it must’ve done something to the codec.”

Satisfied with his work, Hal sits back, reaches out for Dave’s hand and starts cleaning the blood off his fingers. “But there was a gunshot,” Hal’s voice shakes, just a little, “and your body cam feed went out before the explosion.”

Dave gives him a wry smile. “One of ‘em thought he saw me, but he was a bad shot,” He gives Hal his other hand then, holding it at an awkward angle while Hal drags the edge of the cloth under his nails. “Broke the camera when I rolled out of his way. Sorry.” They fall quiet again. Dave watches Hal fidget in his seat, watches him stare at his hands. “Hal, I’m-“

“I love you.” Hal looks up, looks at David, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

David looks at him and he knows he must look like an idiot, eyes wide, mouth open. “I- uh. Fuck.”

“God, I’m sorry, that was- I-“ Hal’s tumbling over his words and he shakes his head, covering his reddening face with his hands. “I’m an idiot.”

“Hal,” Dave wraps his fingers around Hal’s wrist like it’s something delicate. He pulls Hal’s hand away from his face and opens his own mouth to speak, and then realizes he has no idea what to say. Fuck. He wasn’t ready for this. The kissing and the sex he could do, hell, even the ridiculously domestic intimacy he could handle, but this? Emotions were never his strong point.

“It’s stupid, I’m sorry, I was just so worried and I started thinking and-“

“Hal, shut up.” Hal looks mortified, his wrist still caught in David’s grip.

“I know you don’t-“

“Hal, shut _up_.” Dave uses his grip on his wrist to yank Hal closer and keeps his other hand steady on the steering wheel as he claims Hal’s mouth in a burning kiss, a kiss that leaves them both breathless. “I- _fuck_ ,” his tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a nervous gesture. “I love you, too.”

“I- uh… you do?” Hal just _looks_ at him, with that big, wide-eyed stare.

 And then he starts laughing. He’s doubled over in his seat, one hand covering his face, and Dave isn’t sure he’s ever seen Hal laugh quite like that, not sure he’s ever seen _anyone_ laugh like that. And then, before he even knows what’s happened, Hal’s kissing him with both hands planted squarely on the sides of his face, and it’s messy and sloppy and somehow so endearing that it makes David ache, makes him want pull Hal into his lap and never let him go. Hal pulls back after a moment, but Dave can still feel the heat in his cheeks. “Sorry,” Hal breathes against his skin. The sun inches higher over the horizon, bathing them both in golden light.

“What’s so funny?” Dave quirks an eyebrow, but he can’t wipe the smile from his face. Hal settles back into his seat and Dave turns his eyes back to the road.

Hal shakes his head. “Nothing, I just…” his voice is still tinged with childlike wonder, with disbelief. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Dave almost laughs, an exhale of warm breath through his nose. “You make me do a lot of things I never thought I’d do.”

“I do?” Hal turns his head. Dave’s hand falls warm and strong on his thigh.

“Yeah,” Dave turns his head, too. Hal’s hand covers his own, thin and bony and pale. “Yeah, Hal, you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Other pieces for snotweek 2017 can also be found on my [tumblr](http://metalgearraiden.tumblr.com/tagged/mine)!


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